Every day, here in Covington, Kentucky, when the sun starts to come up, I look out my window in my apartment. I look to my right and look at that flagpole on my building’s property. If the flag is blowing, I know I’m facing a windy day when I go outside. If the flag isn’t blowing, walking may be a little easier for me. Yep, I’m using that flag and flagpole as my wind gage.
Every day—should say every morning—I make my bed. Some people have asked me, “Why bother?” My mother didn’t raise me that way.
Every day—again, should say every morning—I have two cups of coffee, no more than that. My father drank it all day, every day. I’m not my father.
I don’t shower every day these days, may skip a day here and there, but every day I still brush my teeth.
Every day, I wash dishes. I like where I live here in Covington, but I wish my kitchen had a dishwasher. It don’t and it won’t, so I’m doing the damn dishes every day. I don’t like having dirty ones in my sink.
Every day, I drink water.
I go and check my mailbox every day and almost every day I don’t get any.
I recharge my e-cigarette device every day. Who would have ever thought I’d be plugging in a cigarette.
Every day, I read. When I say that, I mean books. Right now, I’m finishing up “The 13 Clocks,” written my James Thurber. The last time my son was over, I asked him if he knew who James Thurber was. He didn’t—no surprise to me. I think that’s the case with most younger people these days. They don’t know what they’re missing.
Every day, I put my keys in my pocket. I’ve never, ever—knock on wood—lost a set of keys and I’m going to keep it that way.
Maybe next time, I’ll write a post about what I don’t do every day, but don’t get your hopes up.
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